


ain't trying to get rich just trying to get by

by quakenbake (raccoontitties)



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Friendship, Gen, Memory Loss, Team Sad + Natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccoontitties/pseuds/quakenbake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holy parallel universes, she's about to be corralled into a night out on the town with the world’s deadliest assassin and the world's most killjoy scientist. Is this real life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	ain't trying to get rich just trying to get by

**Author's Note:**

> Jess makes friends. That's it. That's the story.

_Congrats Jess, you're going to die unloved and alone, just like you always figured._

* * *

“Hey. We’re going to land in a few minutes. You want to get a drink?”

Jess straightens from where she’s tying the laces of her boots to get a better look at whoever’s talking to her. It’s Natasha, already changed into her regular clothes and somehow looking just as lethal in jeans and a leather jacket as she does with her cuffs and whatever big ass gun she’s brought with her.

Natasha’s face though, it’s doing a weird thing. Sort of like a smile but sort of not. Then it hits her.

“Is this about that…thing…up there? Because I’m fine, regardless of what I said. I’m not going to, like, disappear to fight aliens or anything. Again.”

“No.” She stretches the syllable out like Jess is a dense preschooler and she’s about to explain something simple. “It’s because I want a drink.”

A million things run through Jess' head, a series of replies to stop the way the Black Widow’s just standing there with her hands on her hips offering booze like they're sorority sisters.

(Jess imagines that’s what sorority sisters would do after a week or so of saving the universe. That or karaoke. Which, just no.)

The list includes things like, _since when were we bosom buddies?, why don't you take Clint?, does alcohol even effect you?,_ can _we do karaoke?_

But she doesn't get to try any of those because a voice interjects behind her.

“That sounds great. Mind if I tag along?” It's Bruce, fastening the cuffs of an ill-fitting shirt. His glasses are slightly askew and his hair stands up a little in the back. He hasn't had time to shave, but at least that facet of his bedraggled appearance works for him rather than against him. 

Holy parallel universes, she's about to be corralled into a night out on the town with the world’s deadliest assassin and the world's most killjoy scientist. Is this real life?

“Really?” She squeaks a little and that's embarrassing, but so is the way Natasha is trying not to laugh at her and failing, which means she's hardly trying at all. Can Bruce even go to bars? Like, what if he doesn't like the service and gets ticked off?

“Yes, really. We spend a lot of time together. Well, you and Hulk do, so I figure we're probably going to have a prolonged working relationship. It’d be nice if I got to know you as well.”

Bruce is about as smooth as a seventh grader trying to score a date for his first dance, but Jess gets the feeling that's not really what this is about. Later she’ll wonder what it was about the combination of Bruce’s hangdog sincerity and Natasha’s expression of near death-defying boredom that got her to say yes. Probably the promise of alcohol; that is always a crowd pleaser.

\-----

This bar is terrible and the beer is even worse, but Bruce insisted they get dropped off in the fucking desert _just in case._ Which yes, is probably responsible, but the jukebox only has country and not the good shoot-your-cheating-husband country, just depressing my-wife-left-and-took-the-dog country.

She’s had four shots and some vague number of beers. --they got pitchers because apparently that's cheaper (first mistake) and the music isn't doing much for her mood. Neither are the guys in flannel who keep shooting 'subtle' glances at her and Natasha. If they knew anything worth knowing about either of them, they'd high tail it out of there in a second.

Or maybe not.

There’s a guy. He looks like the werewolf from that vampire show Carol pretends --pretended not to love, all tall, dark, and muscle-y. It's not Jess' usual type but she understands how others might see the allure.

She turns to Bruce, fully intending to throw herself at him and cement her unavailability to everyone in the bar, but he’s is too busy clapping at Natasha’s stunning and eerily provocative domination of a darts competition with a group of bikers. _Bikers._

“Hey. My name's Andy,” he says, giving her a smirk that would be more charming if the smell of his tequila wasn't making the vodka Natasha forced into her rebel in her stomach. She probably has to respond though, right? That’s what normal people do.

“Hello, Andy.”

“So I've been comin' here every Friday since I can remember and I've never seen anybody as pretty as you. I was so enchanted by your beauty that I ran into that wall over there. So I am going to need your name and number for insurance purposes.”

 _Oh god._ Jess stares at him blankly, struggling to either fully close her mouth or use it to say something.

“Oh god, you're serious.”

“Of course I am, I didn't walk all the way over here just to see your face. Though that’s just as nice as the rest of you.” _Gross._

“I don't have a phone.” Wow, that was dumb. Everyone has a phone. What's she going to say next; I don't have a name? Andy doesn't seem to notice her blunder though.

“OK then. How about a dance?”

“Look, I’m flattered but I’m also tired. And-”

“--Just one dance.” His hand curls around her wrist and he's strong. Not too strong, but strong enough that she can't break out of his grip without making a scene and showing her super-powered hand.

“Uh, excuse me?” Thank god. Bruce. Now he wants to pop in.

“What?”

“My friend isn't interested. We just want to relax and have a nice time.”

“That’s what I'm tryin’ to do so butt out, four-eyes.”

Jess sees the green flash and she's off her barstool and pushing Andy onto the dance floor. Better to suffer a fool for five minutes than have the Hulk loose in a crowded space full of people, right?

Wrong.

Andy is handsy and drunker than he seemed at first. Jess has something of a temper even when she's sober. As expected, it's not a good mix. Especially not when he squeezes her ass with both hands and oh boy, she isn’t in the mood for that kind of dance.

Her fist connects with his nose and a satisfying amount of blood pours out of it. As the older generation -or Steve- would say, that's when everything goes to hell.

Andy staggers back into an equally burly guy at the pool table who shoves back and within seconds, Jess is in the center of a full on bar brawl. It’s like something out of Roadhouse. This is why she doesn't try to have fun. With people. In places. That are public.

Well-placed elbows and killer reflexes get her back to the bar and Bruce but not before she's shoved hard enough to send her to the floor.

“You’re going to pay for that, bitch.”

“No, you are.”

“Bruce, stop.” Natasha flings herself a good ten feet from where Jess last saw her to block him and try to shove him back to his seat.

“I’m going to tear him apart.”

“No. You’re going to go stand outside and wait for us. _I’m_ going to tear him apart because _I_ don't turn into a two tonne green monster that everyone knows is an Avenger. We clear?”

“Come on, big guy,” Jess says, appealing to the Hulk that she can see clawing at the edges of Bruce’s clenched jaw. “Listen to Red.”

“Fine,” he storms out with a dramatic flounce worthy of Tony Stark while Natasha lends her a hand up. She glances to where Jessica’s new nemesis is still shaking his fist at her and trying to force his way through the crowd.

“Want to kick some ass?”

“Yes. Let’s.”

\----

Well. They do kick ass. However, they also manage to take the fight outside where the combination of punching, yelling, and sirens proves too much for the Hulk to resist.

If anyone asks, Jess is going to say that's why the state troopers are called. Not because of the damage she and Natasha do to the bar.

The point is. They get arrested. Well, she gets arrested. Natasha _allows_ the cops to cuff her on the condition that no one tries to take down Hulk, which no one wanted to attempt anyway. Between the two of them, they convince Hulk that it would be more fun to skip empty pickup trucks across a field than to attack the people around him. All and all, that part is probably a win for the history books.

\-----

“Would you care to explain what happened here ma'am?”

“Yes, officer. My fellow Avengers and I were trying to apprehend an important suspect in an on-going S.H.I.E.L.D investigation. Needless to say, things got out of hand and the suspect escaped. I do hope you'll take our complete cooperation into account and please call Commander Maria Hill, who will confirm what i've told you.”

Natasha is full of shit. "What are you doing? What if they actually call?"

“Quiet.” Natasha hisses out of the side of her mouth. “Hill owes me a favor. Just play along and this doesn't have to become an incident.”

The officer looks back and forth between them, trying to make a decision that no protocol has prepared him for.  "I understand that ma'am, but there's still the matter of the damages and I can't leave him,” he says jerking his thumb at the Hulk, "out here without supervision."

“I can take care of that. As for the bill, send it to S.H.I.E.LD.” Natasha slides a hand out of her cuffs -like it's no big deal- and into Jess' pocket. “My phone got smashed. I'm going to use yours to call Carol.”

"No!" OK that came out louder than it needed to. "Call Steve. Captain America and all. You can't get more credibility than that."

"Whatever" she says, dialing a number and holding the phone to her ear. She smiles at the cop, the most accommodating and reassuring smile Jess has ever seen. Natasha is _so_ full of shit. 

\----- 

Carol isn't sure why she's the one flying out to Arizona. They called Steve and, for all intents and purposes, she barely knows these people. But the side of the conversation she heard sounded like a favor and this could be the chance to reforge everything she lost when she saved the world. Or so she's been told. 

There isn't much in the way of expectations; she just overheard a call from the Black Widow followed by a second from Maria Hill. From his immense sigh, she assumed that Steve was disappointed or frustrated but then he started chuckling uncontrollably so really she could be flying into anything.

Somehow, she still doesn't expect to come across the Hulk sitting on the side of the road surrounded by state troopers with a handcuffed Spider-Woman perched on his shoulder and the Black Widow standing a few feet away with her arms crossed over her chest. The wreckage behind them must be, or used to be, the Lonesome Coyote Bar & Grill.

"What?" No seriously, what? How do these three end up in a honky-tonk bar at 2am looking for all the world like a trio of busted teenagers? “What’s going on here?”

Natasha pulls her to the side and says; "We'll explain everything later. Much later.”

She's speaking perfectly clear, but she reeks of vodka and that distinctive sweaty musk that you only find in grimy bars. “Are you guys drunk?”

"I'm not. Bruce probably isn't anymore now that he's the Hulk. Jessica…definitely."

“I thought this was official Avengers business.”

“So do they,” Natasha says, indicating the cops still training guns at the Hulk who -thankfully- looks a few seconds away from falling asleep. Jessica leans down to whisper loudly in his ear.

"Hey buddy, I might have just thrown up down your back. Don't smash me or anything, OK?"

He nods slowly, ridiculously. "OK. Hulk forgive Spider-Woman."

"Awesome."

"Why do I feel like a babysitter?" Carol says.

Natasha shrugs and walks away.

\----

OK. Now she definitely feels like a baby sitter. Natasha took responsibility for getting an unconscious Banner home, which left her with an arm full of belligerent Spider-Woman.

"I told her to call Steve." she says, pouting. “Captain _America_.”

“She did.”

“Then why are you here? I'm still mad at you.”

Carol doesn't know what to say to that. She can guess _why_ , she just doesn't know whether to apologize or call Jessica out for being selfish. Neither probably, when Jessica reeks of booze and can barely keep her eyes open.

She helps Jessica into her apartment, puts her in the shower, stays by the door to make sure she doesn't drown and then tucks her into bed. She's pliant now and less talkative. Carol can't help but be moved by how sad she looks even heavy-lidded and on the verge of unconsciousness. From what she's gathered, Jessica has taken a lot in her life. Losing her best friend probably wasn't a welcome addition to her issues. It’s pity, yes there's definitely pity in what Carol feels as she combs damp hair back from Jessica's face, but also a warmth towards her. Like a shadow of fondness or a subconscious memory of their friendship.

“I missed you.”

It startles her because she thought Jessica was asleep.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. I went out drinking with Natasha and Bruce. _Bruce._ Who knew he could be fun at all.”

“So you did have a good time? Before --” _before you nearly destroyed a city block?_ She almost says, but that sounds judgmental even to her.

“Yeah. I think they're my friends. Or something.”

Jessica snuggles into her pillow and there’s something so childlike about it that Carol smiles.

“But don't worry. You're still my best friend.”

Oh. Jessica is still drunk. Lucid enough to remember some of the night’s events, but incoherent enough to not remember what happened weeks ago in New York.

“Will you stay?”

“Yeah, sure.” It falls out of her mouth before she considers how awkward this is going to be come morning. (Awkward as hell) But, she doesn't really have the heart to say no. Too much like kicking a man when he's down.

Jessica slides over maybe a foot and a half, just barely enough for Carol to squeeze into bed with her. When she manages to scoot and jostle enough to get comfortable, Jessica kind of flops on top of her and tucks her head against Carol's shoulder, burrowing into her like a big rabbit with pointy elbows and a riot of dark hair that tickles her chin.

Carol wonders if this is going to be her life now, instinct providing skill in battle but deserting her in personal matters. If she's always going to be ten steps behind everyone around her, feeling like an impostor wearing the mask of their friend. She knows enough to know who she is. She knows she's strong and smart and a kickass hero who made a big sacrifice and saved the world. The entire world. But this, this small apartment and this small bed and this small woman clutching her shirt like she's afraid Carol will slip away, this seems important too.

There's not much Carol can do but squeeze her back and tell her that everything will be fine. She doesn't think she's lying, but maybe she doesn't know enough to be sure.

 

 


End file.
